Samson and Sam Winchester
by mainegirlwrites
Summary: Everyone knows the old Biblical story of the character Samson with hair that gives him strength ...no? Then you'll get your Sunday schoolin' right here. And, angsty!angry!Sam. This should be fun.
1. Chapter 1

_Into: While in church last Sunday - hey, I've got to keep up on my prayers to keep the demons at bay - I was struck by the similarities between the old Biblical story of Samson...and Sam Winchester. Don't remember it or know it? Then you'll get a little Sunday schoolin' with this story...enjoy._

**Chapter One  **

It was a strange demon, and Dean didn't like it.

His feet pounded the concrete sidewalk of the rural neighborhood. His breathe came slowly, easily, even though he had been running for over a mile. The evening was chill, and as he continued to run, his breath began to come out in short puffs of smoke. The street was quiet, abandoned, but it should be. It was three o'clock in the morning.

Finally he reached where he had parked the Impala. He lay a soft hand on the hood and bend over, calming his beating heart, and thinking.

Every demon was a bitch. Or a bastard. But this one – seemed especially malicious. Hey couldn't figure out why he felt this way. It seemed more like an animal than a demon – the way it crouched and growled at him, how it was smart enough to avoid the carefully hidden demon trap.

_Dammit. Where was Sam? He was supposed to meet me back here._

Dean fumbled for his cell phone with his chilled hands and speed dialed his brother. Dean's eyebrows arched high when he heard the familiar ring on the passenger side of the Impala.

Dean clicked off the phone, and in a practiced motion, pulled out his handgun and held it at the ready, slowly walking around the front of the car to the passenger side.

Sam lay slumped against the rear tire, head down on his chest. One hand lay open with the still ringing cell phone in its palm.

"Sammy!" Dean pocketed the gun and fell to the ground next to his brother. He pushed Sam's head back and felt blood on his hand.

"Sammy!" Dean repeated in a hoarse whisper. A moan was his reply.

"Come on, come on," Dean attempted to pull Sam to his feet, but his brother's body was limp. Dean gently returned Sam to the ground and opened the rear door of the Impala, and managed to drag his brother's unconscious form in the back seat.

Dean closed the door on Sam's feet, pushing the door closed until it clicked. That boy is just too tall for his own damn good, Dean thought. He paused for a moment, and it was then that the exhaustion caught up with him. He was tired. They had been hunting this demon for almost three days straight with little food and no rest. The excursion from hauling his brother into the car had made him sweat. Now the cool dawn air gave him a chill.

He quickly hopped into the Impala and headed to the motel.

* * *

><p>It was still dark when he reached the familiar blinking neon of the motel. Dean parked the car and opened the motel door, then went back for his brother.<p>

Sam was sitting up in the back seat, rubbing his head. Dean opened the door and bent down to talk to Sam.

But what Dean Winchester saw slackened his jaw and stopped his heart.

Sam saw the look on his brother's face.

"What?" questioned the still groggy Sam hoarsely.

"What the - ," Dean sputtered. His hazel eyes were directed at the top of Sam's head.

"What?" Sam muttered angrily, his hand reaching for his hair.

It was chopped. Badly. Cut so close to the scalp in places Dean could see the skin underneath. Like someone had grabbed it and hacked it off. With malice.

Sam scuttled out of the back seat of the car, his mouth and eyes round with shock. His legs were still weak and he practically fell into Dean's arms, who grabbed him and helped him into the motel room. Sam fumbled for the light as Dean helped him sit on the edge of one of the beds.

Dean backed up, looking at his brother is utter dismay. The blood from his head wound was a crimson against his deathly pale skin. His wide eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep, and the neck of his shirt was ripped and soaked red. Both hands frantically felt the lack of hair that once crowned him.

"Dean – how bad - ," Sam could barely form the words. Dean reached over and snapped off the light. The scene inside this room was mind-numbing. It was enough to have his brother hurt, exhausted, hungry, but practically disfigured – it was unreal.

Dean turned on the small bathroom light, and under the flickering florescent, grabbed a washcloth and the garbage basket. He handed the basket to Sam, who almost immediately vomited.

"I think you have a concussion," Dean said. He placed the cool washcloth against Sam's forehead. With the dim light from the bathroom, Dean could see his brother wince.

"We're gonna take it easy for a few days, okay? We lost the demon. No sense running around with our head cut off," Dean bit his bottom lip, immediately regretting his words.

Sam nodded in the dark. "I wish he had cut my head off," he lamented.

The Winchesters were handsome boys, and they both knew it. Dean used it to his advantage to get information from the female members of the local police force, or to pry a hospital room number from a young nurse. It was an instant force, and Dean knew how to use it. Sam was still learning. His physical presence was unmistakable – he was over six feet, six inches – but he could make the shyest girl smile with a glance from his warm eyes. Both brothers worked out, keeping themselves in excellent physical shape. They knew they didnt have much – a car, a few backpacks of clothes, and each other – and an innate sense of pride that they could use their bodies to use as a weapon against the supernatural.

And a big part of Sam's pride was his hair.

And now that was gone.

Dean sat in the motel chair, listening to Sam vomit again into the bucket. It was more like a nasty dry heave, since there was nothing in the boy's stomach.

_What the hell, _he thought. _How – why – would a demon want to cut Sam's hair? To break him down? _

Dean rubbed his hand through his own short hair and down his face.

"Dean," Sam pulled his brother from his thoughts. "I'm really hungry, man. Like _really_ hungry."

Dean felt his chest swell with pride. His brother had been attacked and knocked in the head, unwillingly got a bad haircut, wiped vomit off his chin, and asked for food.

"Okay, Sammy. I'll run out. But you probably shouldn't sleep with that concussion," Dean reached over and snapped on the television. The sudden light make both of them wince. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

Sam pulled himself to the back of the bed and Dean arranged the pillows behind him to help him sit up. Sam waved him away, eyes on the television screen.

"Go, go," he urged.

Dean made sure he locked the motel room door behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

It took Dean over forty minutes to find a decent take-out breakfast for his brother. He ordered an organic sausage and egg wrap for himself, his stomach rumbling with protest.

_I know, I know, a burger is really what you want_, he told said stomach, eying the nearby tofu smoothies warily. But Dean didn't want to leave Sam alone any longer to find a meal more satisfying for himself.

After one more stop, Dean returned to the motel room, slowly and quietly letting himself in. The lights and television were on, and the bathroom shower was running. Steam rolled out from under the doorway.

"Sammy, it's me," Dean called out. He got a muffled response. The shower stopped.

"I got food, hurry up," Dean said. He longed to see his brother, thinking maybe the crude, unwanted haircut was not as bad as he had imagined.

Sam came out of the shower, dressed in sweatpants and a loose white v-neck t-shirt. His head was down, seemingly to avoid Dean's eyes. His hands were on his head, vainly attempting to lay down the hodge-podge of hair that stuck up in a myriad of directions and lengths.

Defeated, Sam dropped his hands to his sides and looked at Dean. The elder Winchester now realized why Sam had been avoiding looking at him – Sam's eyes were puffy and red from crying.

"Oh, Sammy, it's...it's really not...," Dean attempted to reassure his brother. Sam fell into the chair across from Dean and pulled the breakfast toward him, toying at it with his fork. _Goddammit, why I am so bad at this.._..Dean chastised himself. He couldn't think of what to do or what to say.

Dean blinked rapidly, immediately attempting to dispel an unexpected onslaught of his own tears. He choked down a bit of the wrap past the lump in his throat. This life had taken everything away. Parents, loved ones, the chance of a normal life...all gone. And now to be stripped down to the core, exposed, attacked in such a malevolent way...Dean's heart pounded in his ears with an unforeseen force. But he couldn't tell if it was -

- anger or anxiety.

"I got something for you, uh, I hope...here," Dean reached into the paper bag at this feet and pulled out a baseball cap for his brother, handing it to Sam.

Sam's eyes narrowed, but a ghost of a lop-sided grin touched his lips.

"Thanks," he finally answered. He put in on, adjusting it and crimping the bill.

Dean pulled out two coffee and passed one to Sam, quickly taking a sip to hid a gasp of surprise. Seeing Sam in a baseball hat, with short hair poking out from under the rim brought memories from long ago to the forefront of his brain.

_It was raining, but Sammy didn't care. _

_Come on, come on, Dean, he urged, pulling at Dean's fingers. Dean stowed the handgun on the top shelf of the motel room closet, and looked down at his little brother. Sammy was seven, his cheeks still round with boyhood, his nose sprinkled with freckles. He was wearing his favorite, worn baseball hat – the Kansas City Royals. The large "KC" on front of the hat had just about disappeared, and the royal blue of the brim was worn down white. _

_It's raining, Sammy, Dean replied, looking out the window. _

_It's just a light rain! No biggie! Sammy said, large pleading eyes under the cap's brim._

_Dean nodded, and Sammy burst for the door with a shout, grabbing his mitt and baseball on the way. Dean followed, watching his brother spring over puddles, heading for the adjacent baseball field. _

_Last one there...! Giggled Sammy to Dean. _

"...a rotten egg," lamented Sam. Dean blinked rapidly, pulling himself back to real time.

"Wh – what?"

"I said, I think this is a rotten egg," muttered Sam with an upturned lip, plucking out a portion of the egg from his meal and depositing it in the nearby trash. Dean sighed. Sam was down, down low, what he needed right now was a cheerleader. But unfortunately Dean was not in the state of mind to play that role. He was so exhausted it even hurt to eat. Dean pushed the remainder of his wrap away, and with a few staggering footsteps, fell onto his bed.

"Three days of no sleep...makes Dean...," the words were lost in a soft snore as the elder Winchester fell almost immediately into a deep slumber.

"...a very, very, tired boy," stated Sam. He watched his brother sleep for a few minutes, pondering about a certain demon out there that needed to have its head beat in.

Sam grabbed his coat and quietly left the motel room, locking the door behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Morning was breaking over the small New England town. Bells on cafe shop doors jingled with customers, releasing the warm scent of coffee out onto the sidewalk. Some morning traffic slid by, oblivious to one man's weary footsteps.

Sam didn't know where he was going. Or what he was going to do when he got there.

The few bites of his breakfast sat like stones in his stomach, and the coffee he had drank sloshed in his gut like a storm in a bucket.

He looked terrible. Therefore, he felt terrible.

Sam didn't consider himself to be vain. Sure, he knew he was a handsome fellow, and he could sometimes work that to his advantage. Not as well as his brother, though. Dean had the looks and the smooth attitude. Sam still often felt the awkward teenager around women. Unbeknownst to the younger Winchester, that was often part of his appeal.

But why the hair? It was almost his own...trademark. Dean had always worn his hair "high and tight" as their father often called it. Sam liked having his hair long and loose around his face. Sometimes it would hide his emotions, falling over somber eyes. He liked the feel of it over his ears, on his neck. It was like a protection - _like a protection_ -

Sam stopped in his tracks, causing a young mother with her stroller to turn quickly to avoid him. Sam mumbled a sorry to her wilting glance, fumbling for his cell phone. He dialed Bobby.

"Bobby, I need you to look something up for me. No, computer is fine. Ahhh...I'm not near my laptop right now. Thanks. There's a bible story – something about a guy with hair, and it's his strength. Oh...you know it?"

Before Bobby could offer the answer, the cell phone went dead in Sam's hand. Then it began to get heavy...as a brick. Sam grit his teeth with surprise and exertion as the phone fell from his hand, suddenly the weight of a 50-pound dumbbell.

_What the hell?_

He glanced up and around him, and noticed a young, lean man across the street, leaning against a light post, staring at Sam and grinning widely. He was dressed in khakis and a crisp white shirt, with a tie and red vest. Sam crossed the street in three leaps, coming face to face with the man.

"Who are you!" Sam shouted, their noses almost touching. The brim of his baseball hat pushed up against the other's forehead.

The man looked at Sam calmly.

"Temper, temper," he said in a mild English accent. He placed spread fingers on Sam's chest and with surprising strength, pushed the Winchester away. "All questions will be answered, my boy," he continued. Sam's eyes were wide with rage, his lips pulled back in a snarl. His fists curled by his sides, tense and ready arms ready to fight.

"Let's be a bit civilized, shall we? Introductions are in order, I believe. My name is Josephus. And you are Sam...Winchester, yes? I'm here to help, Sam."

"Help?" Sam's voice squawked and he pulled off his hat. He pointed to his hair. "Like, this kind of help?"

Josephus shook his head sadly and tsk'ed. "Oh, terrible, terrible."

Sam took a step back, relaxing his face. This was some kind of demon, or something, he wasn't quite sure...but it wasn't the creature that did this to him. That being was solidly built and aggressive. Josephus was too delicate – strong, but delicate – to have attacked him.

"I think we should talk," Sam muttered.

Josephus smiled broadly. "I'm so glad! Perhaps there is someplace we can go...that's a bit more private?" He glanced around, indicating their conversation was receiving unwanted attention. Sam nodded with a jerk, then turned and indicated Josephus should follow. The two fell side by side, the leaner man's footsteps coming quickly to meet Sam's long, purposeful ones.

"I don't like what you did to my cell phone," Sam muttered, barely looking over.

"Oh, right. All fixed now," Josephus replied. Sam felt the familiar shape of his phone back in his pocket, and pulled it out in surprise, but not missing a stride.

"Thanks," Sam said.

"Quite welcome!" Josephus replied brightly. When Sam didn't return his smile, Josephus frowned satirically, imitating the other's dark mood. In a few minutes, they stood in front of the motel, and Sam unlocked and opened the door.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

A bleary-eyed Dean met Sam and Josephus at the door, opening it before Sam could insert his key. Dean blinked in the sunlight, glancing at his brother, then his guest, before turning and gesturing them in. Dean sat in the chair next to the small table, swirling his coffee and taking a distasteful swig.

"Ugh," Dean muttered, then glanced up at the two, still standing. Dean pointed to Josephus with his coffee cup. "Well, sit down. I'm sure there's a story here somewhere."

Sam sat on the edge of the bed and while he filled Dean in, Josephus sat gingerly on the edge of the other chair across from Dean. When Sam finished, Dean gave Josephus a complete once-over stare.

"Heavy cell phones? Reappearing cell phones? What are you, some kind of trickster?" he finally asked of the man.

Josephus cleared his throat, politely concealing a smile behind his fist. "Something like that, you might say," he replied.

Dean slammed his fist down on the rickety table, making both Sam and Josephus jump. "I don't want riddles, trickster. I don't want 'something like thats'." Dean pointed a finger at the lean figure, his bloodshot eyes boring deep. "I want answers."

Josephus nodded solemnly, a pout on his lips. "I understand. Answers," he sighed deeply. "From where to start...Sam, I understand you are the brains of this group - ," Josephus glanced sideways at Dean, " - so tell me what you know of the Greek messenger, Hermes."

Sam looked surprised. "Sure, Hermes – the messenger of the gods of Greek mythology. He was a known trickster, and could shape shift - ,"

"Another trickster? A Loki?" Dean interjected. It wasn't very long ago that the Winchester brothers realized that the angel Gabriel had been hiding on Earth as a trickster known as Loki to a group of pagan gods he had been cavorting with.

"Well...a Loki is of Norse origin," Josephus explained. "Somewhat barbaric and short-sighted."

"Are you Hermes?" Sam asked. His laptop was open on his lap and he began typing.

"No, but most honored to be a close relative. Family business, you might say."

"Here, here...," Sam began to scan the computer screen. "Hermes...messenger, guide to the Underworld, patron of travelers, of orators and wit, literature and poets..."

Josephus nodded. "All true. Hermes with the winged sandals and the caduceus. Such a striking figure," he placed his hand on his heart and looked skyward. "Gods bless him. I am merely here in his stead, to help right a wrong. You see, it is our family duty to aid in the delivery of souls to the afterlife. But one particular soul escaped Hermes thousands of years ago, and we have not seen her since. Only now has she raised her ghoulish head. I am here to find, deliver, and banish her to – well, I believe you call it – hell."

"The demon we've been chasing," Dean stated. Josephus nodded.

"I do not want to play games, but Sam, have you figured out who she is?" Josephus asked. Before Sam could speak, he snapped his fingers and Sam's baseball hat disappeared from his head and reappeared on his lap. "That's your clue."

"She?" Dean responded. Sam could only sit on the edge of the bed, staring at Josephus, mouth agape. His hand reached up slowly to smooth down his short, tousled hair. He finally closed his mouth and licked his lips, and croaked out the name,

"_Delilah."_


	5. Chapter 5

_Note to readers: In response to many inquiries, yes, Samson and Delilah is a 'true' Biblical tale. I have done my research and attempted to make the retelling of this history as accurate as possible. Thank you so much for your interest in this story, and your reviews...as they are like the feel of Sam's beauteous hair before it was cut by that bitch. Now the story continues..._

**Chapter Five**

"Deli-who?"

Sam ignored his older brother, and stood up, the laptop slowly sliding off his lap and onto the bed. He addressed Josephus.

"The actual, biblical Delilah – the one that cut Samson's hair," Sam said. Dean rose to his feet as well, alarm on his face.

"Cut _SAM_son's hair? Will somebody please explain this all to me?" Dean's voice rose in frustration. Sam walked to the motel room's kitchenette, shaking his head and chuckling to himself ruefully. Dean looked from one man to the other in dismay. Sam took a long, slow drink of water and began to explain the tale to his brother.

"It took place in Biblical times, Dean. God immaculately conceived a son to deliver the Israelites from the Philistines, who had been at war for years. God demanded, through an angel, that the child be a Nazarite, meaning he had to abstain from wine, avoid corpses, and - ,"

"-and refrain from cutting the hair on one's head!" Josephus interjected with glee. "Sorry," he apologized, after being glared at by the brothers.

"Anyway," Sam continued, "Samson has this incredible strength. Kill lions with his bare hands, kills an army of enemies with an animal's jawbone. He fall in love with this Delilah girl, who eventually discovers his strength lies in his hair. She tells the Philistines, who cut his hair, capture and imprison him." Sam looked at Josephus with a frown. "Right?"

"Very good, Sam! You just forgot the part where the Philistines then gouge out his eyes and put him to work grinding grain for the rest of his life," Josephus added. "Ahhhhh...sorry, again."

"But I'm still a little confused," Sam pondered, more to himself. He walked over to the nightstand, and opening the lower drawer, pulled out the Bible that lay in it. He fanned through the pages, deep in thought. Dean and Josephus watched him silently.

"If you are truly a messenger of the ancient mythological _gods,_ Josephus," Sam questioned him, "how are you fitting into a Biblical story that has to do with _God_?"

Josephus dropped his chin to his chest and chuckled. He smoothed his vest with wide palms, then looked up at Sam.

"You are a smart boy, Sam. But I am surprised you haven't figured it out. All gods are related – criss-crossed – overlap – whatever. One _god_ to one person is a different _God_ – capital 'G' - to another. But they are all the same. And all different." He spread his hands, palms up. "Its really quite glorious. All of mankind's fighting over the centuries, over who has the better god...they were all just really fighting over the same one." He grinned broadly, proud of his moment, looking at the Winchester brothers.

"You sniveling, snotty piece of shit," Dean said. "And you and all your gods – just let all of those armies fight – and all those people die! Centuries of warfare – millions of deaths that could have been prevented?"

"Now, now, calm yourself there, Herod," Josephus returned, with a warning snarl. "It was written. There was no other way. Don't talk to me with that pompous tone. There are things I could do to you that you can't even imagine." The messenger and the man were now nose to nose.

"Okay, okay, you two, enough. This is about catching a demon," Sam acquiesced, pushing the two apart.

Josephus pulled down his vest and smoothed back his hair. "I'm going to chat with some of my co-workers, and see if there is any other information about Delilah. Any other...attacks." He was gone.

"Herod?" Dean questioned.

"Um, you don't want to know." Sam saw the look on Dean's face. "Okay, okay, dude, but you are not going to like it. After he was tricked out of murdering baby Jesus – yeah, _the_ baby Jesus – he had all the baby boys in Bethlehem killed. He was certified psychotic – and was reported as covered with worms and puss when he died, probably from scabies."

"Jesus," Dean shivered, his lip in a sneer. "Ugh, you're right, I didn't want to know. Enough history lessons. And I don't want to sit around, waiting to see what Josephus comes back with. I say we gather our own intel while he's gone."

Sam nodded, finally replacing his baseball cap. Dean reached over and pulled it down over his eyes.

"Hey!" Sam objected.

"_Hey!" Sam objected. He was twelve and thought he knew it all. Dean was sixteen and thought the same. _

"_Relax, Sammy!" Dean replied. _

"_Don't tell me what to do!" Sam shot back as he fixed his baseball cap. His hazel eyes burned. Dean was taken aback by the sudden, fierce anger his younger brother displayed. _

"_Okay, okay, Sammy, chill," Dean put his hands in the air as an act of surrender. "Let's just get packed up, Dad is on his way back from a job, and he wants to get going again as soon as he picks us up." _

_Sam threw a heap of clothes in the open suitcase in disgust. _

"_Maybe I don't wanna," he said. Dean looked up from his own packing job. _

"_Don't wanna what?"_

"_Don't wanna go anywhere, pack anymore, sleep in some lousy motel bed, be the new kid at school!" The anger that was in Sam's eyes was now clouded with tears. _

"_Hey - ," Dean began, reaching for his brother. Sam shook Dean's hand off his shoulder and stomped into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. _

"Dean? Dean?" Sam's voice pulled Dean back from the past. "Ready?" Sam nodded towards the door he held open, his laptop case across his shoulder, handgun hidden in his belt.

"Yeah, ready," Dean tucked his gun in his jeans under his shirt, followed Sam out the door, and closed it behind him.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Delilah was pissed. That damn Josephus was onto her, hunting her. With hunters.

The other demons in Hell had warned her – _control yourself _– they had said, or the hunters will find you – but it something had come over her. When she found herself standing over that hunter, with his beautiful hair, the luscious locks her Samson had once had...

The body the demon held captive got goosebumps on his arms. She rubbed the arms unconsciously, allowing herself to think thoughts she had pushed away for so long.

That loving, trusting Samson. He had truly loved her. Laid his head upon her lap in surrender to a woman, something a Nazarite was forbidden to do. He had put aside his devotion to his god for her. Certainly men had done that a thousand times before through out the centuries, but she had been a worthless, poor tramp. No man had ever looked at her like Samson had. How he loved to watch her wade into the river and wash his clothes against the rocks. She would look at him, sitting on the riverbank, the sun shining upon him. He held her above all others – even his God – and she choose to betray him when a few pieces of gold were dangled in front of her like a bone to a hungry dog.

She had burned in Hell for that for a long time. Lucifer treated her like the trash she was, making her scrape parts of tortured souls off the walls for eons. She and the other demons at the bottom of the heap suffered together, finding a cold solace in each others utter misery. But she had found a way out. She didn't know how long she had until Lucifer chose to pull her back in...and what he would do to her when he did. Right now she didn't care – she had freedom.

She had found a body immediately upon escaping Hell. It was a strong, tattooed man, with muscles that bulged out of his sleeveless leather jacket. Used his body to kill others in the bar, to gouge out their necks and see the blood flow, warm and decadent.

It excited Delilah. That burning anger she had held inside for so long was being released. And now Delilah realized it was a fierce, omnipotent anger. It burned inside her like a lava fountain, flowing, hot, powerful.

Her feet pounded the pavement. She thought about that night the hunters almost captured her. They had gotten close, but she had doubled back to their car when she figured out they were going to meet there. She had gotten there first, surprised one of them, jumped on him. Pounded her fist into his skull, watched as he fell into a heap. She had bent closer with her knife, watching him struggle to keep conscious, to fight her off.

The hunter's helplessness touched her. She watched his eyes roll back into his head, and his body slump against the car's tire. His hand twitched, yearning for his gun. She reached out to stroke his weary face with her broad, bloodied hand, and her fingers touched his hair. It was long, almost over the back of his collar, over his ears, and in his slumped position, over his eyes. She brushed it aside, looking to his face.

She remember how her insides had twisted. The anger, the fear, the regret she had existed with for so long came welling again to the surface.

_Oh, my Samson..._

The knife in her hand trembled -

- she grasped a handful of his hair to pull back his head and expose his throat -

- the knife came closer to the hunter -

- and she sliced off his hair instead.

Shocked, she looked at the long locks as they drifted through her fingers and down onto the pavement. Then, in a frenzy, she reached forward again, sobs leaking through her clenched teeth, grabbing the hair, cutting, chopping -

The other hunter was coming closer.

She had darted away, pushing her big body into a staggering run, remnants of hair still clinging to her bloodied fingers, harsh gasps heaving from her chest. Delilah had been ashamed, knowing instantly that her demon comrades in Hell already knew what she had done.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Josephus sat at the outside cafe, his fingers drumming the glass tabletop. A steaming mocha latte with skim milk sat steaming by his hand. He was smartly dressed in an argyle vest, crisp pink button down shirt, and bright blue tie. His hair was perfectly parted and slicked back. Sam and Dean spotted him and walked over, joining him at the table.

The Winchesters had come up with little on their hunt for Delilah. The few leads they had uncovered had not checked out. She was apparently laying low. Josephus had called Sam and Dean and asked to meet with them to exchange information.

"Two coffees," Sam told the waitress.

"What have you got?" Dean asked him as soon as she was out of earshot.

"Hmmm...," Josephus picked up his cup and took a long, slow sip, smacking and licking his lips clean of froth.

Sam could feel Dean seethe beside him. The tension between the elder Winchester and the messenger was running high. Josephus was not a character to be trusted, even though he had aligned himself with the Winchesters in hope of catching Delilah. But his reasons for doing so were still unclear. And even though he came across as effeminate and even delicate, Sam and Dean knew not to underestimate the powers he possessed.

"Something interesting," Josephus finally offered, adjusting his tie and smoothing his vest. He leaned forward, hands splayed out on the tabletop. Sam and Dean leaned closer to hear his harsh whisper. "Delilah was in Hell this whole time – and was just recently released."

"Released?" Sam leaned back, and caught Dean ruefully smiling and shaking his head.

"No one gets _released_ from Hell," Dean replied.

"Well, no one _escapes_ from Hell," Josephus shot back. The conversation halted as the waitress deposited two coffees in front of the brothers.

"Lucifer has Delilah thinking she escaped from Hell. But he opened up a way for her to get out – apparently he has something planned for her," Josephus said. "He was keeping her hidden down there, all this time. We never thought she made it to Hell – always thought she was still walking around up here, possessing bodies, through the centuries. Believe me – ever since Hermes, my relatives and I have been searching for her."

"So she's still a useless sap," Dean smirked.

"Excuse me?" Josephus replied. Even Sam looked surprised.

"Samson's enemies used Delilah to get to Samson. Now Lucifer is going to use her to get at someone else," said Dean.

"But who?" Sam asked as he pulled his knit hat self-consciously down over his ears. He had traded in the baseball cap from Dean when he spied the tight fitting, gray cabled hand-knit hat in a store window a few hours ago.

Dean ran his hand down over his face. "That is the million dollar question," he admitted. His cell phone rang and he quickly answered it, knowing it was Bobby.

"Whatcha got for us, Bobby?" Dean asked.

"I know you told me to do some research into Delilah, but I did a little digging on your friend Josephus," Bobby stated. Dean stood up from the table and walked away to listen.

"I'm listening."

"Seems that Hermes was – ugh, no angel. Some of Homer's hymns describe him as, and I'm quoting here, 'blandly cunning, a robber, a cattle driver, a bringer of dreams, a watcher by night, a thief at the gates'. I don't imagine this relative of his that you're dealing with to be much different. So be careful, okay?"

"Gotcha, Bobby. Thanks. And keep digging, we need all the background we can get on all these characters."

When Dean returned to the table, Josephus greeted him with a smirk and a slow, sad shake of his head.

"Dean, Dean, if you didn't want my help, why didn't you just say so? I know you don't like me, but to not trust me – ahh, that just really hurts."

"Just covering our own ass, Josephus. Don't get your panties in a knot," Dean pulled the chair out and sat down, leaning menacingly towards the messenger. Josephus warily leaned back, eyeing the elder Winchester. "What I want to know is why _you_ need _our_ help. You're a god. And you have friends that are gods. So why enlist the aid of two lowly earth-bound hunters?"

Josephus didn't answer for a moment, throwing futile glances at the brothers and swirling the remnants of his latte at the bottom of his cup. Sam and Dean stayed silent, letting the messenger decide on his answer. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then shut it again, sighed, and looked up at the street lights as they began to glow in the waning light.

"Because I am is the one Lucifer wants. And he's going to use Delilah to get me."


	8. Chapter 8

Hey all! Thanks for waiting so patiently for this next chapter. It was a busy holiday season, but now I can get back to writing! I think the story is really coming together nicely - better than I had planned - so I hope you read and review and give me some feedback on what you think!**  
><strong>

**Chapter 8**

Josephus stared at his latte glumly, letting the words soak in. Dean finally broke the silence.

"Really?" Dean's mirth bubbled over like a child, taking glee at the look of misery on Josephus' face. "Good ol' Lucy wants you, Josey. Ain't that a - ,"

"Dean!" Sam cut his brother off. "Let's just hear what he has to say, okay, dude?"

Dean settled back in the cafe chair, a wide grin on his face. "I'm all ears," he responded, quite pleased. Sam turned back to the messenger and with a nod, gestured for him to begin.

"Its not very complicated. Almost brilliant in its simplicity, really. Lucifer knows its my job – my duty as a god - to put Delilah back in Hell – and keep her there. But Lucifer right now wants souls. Lots of them. And information has it that there is a trap set for me. When I bring Delilah to Hell, Lucifer is sure to capture me. He will ransom me off for souls – even the ones that don't belong in Hell. So my relatives will be forced to bring him souls – and the more souls my relatives bring to him, the sooner I will be released."

"Why does Lucifer want more souls?" questioned Sam gently.

"More souls – more power," Josephus rolled his coffee mug between his palms. "To tell the truth, I don't really care about that part. It's the getting Delilah to Hell part that I'm worried about. We can't have her up here, roaming the Earth, spoiling my forefather's reputation. I have got to get her where she won't escape...without getting myself trapped."

"How do we know that once she's in Hell, Lucifer just won't release – or let her escape – again?"

"Purgatory," Josephus replied, brightening a bit. "I plan to circumvent Lucifer's plan and bring her to purgatory instead. Its not the most redeeming option, but its one that works. In a pinch. And getting her there, well, Sam, that's where you come in."

Dean abruptly sat up. "Oh, no. Sam is not some bait you can use to protect your darling reputation, Josey."

Josephus' eyes suddenly blazed. He carefully set his mug back down on the tabletop. He drilled a controlled finger into the tabletop. "Don't tell me what to do, hunter. I have powers that can squash you like an ant," he challenged.

"But not powers enough to get Delilah on your own. You won't hurt me, or your precious Samson reincarnation here. You need us. And that kills you."

Josephus slumped in his chair, suddenly appearing very tired and small. Dean and Sam exchanged glances. "Its true. I cannot remember anyone like me ever in this position. Ever. Its quite shameful, and the only thing that can redeem me is to put Delilah away, once and for all."

"Why me?" Sam asked. Dean bristled.

"Oh, no, don't do that savior stuff, Sammy. We are _not_ helping this guy out. All he's worried about is saving face, and we are not in the business of keeping someone's feeling from getting hurt."

"Dean, our business is getting rid of demons, any way we can. Delilah has already killed. We have to stop her...," Sam placated his brother. Then he slid the knit cap off his head. "...and let's say I've got a little score to settle." If anything, his hair looked worse today. Some of it stuck to Sam's head where the knit cap had pushed it down, but some of the shorn hair was too short and seemed to poke out of Sam's scalp with a life of its own.

He looked at his older brother with those eyes.

_Those eyes. Dean felt his insides twist. He had just told his kid brother that Santa Claus wasn't real, but monsters were. It was Christmas Eve, and their dad was away on some hunting trip. Dean didn't know when he would return...or if he even remembered that is was Christmas. His poor kid brother turned away, and buried his head in his pillow. The motel room was too small, there was no place that Dean could go and not hear Sam's soft whimpers. Finally, his exhausted little brother fell asleep. Dean bit his lower lip and with a determined glance over his shoulder, closed the door behind him and marched down the deserted street to the nice house down the way. His little brother would have a Christmas, after all. _

Dean blew out his cheeks and shook his head.

"Son of a bitch."


	9. Chapter 9

_I wrote the majority of this chapter while sitting in my church foyer, waiting for my daughter to finish Sunday school. Teehee. _

**Chapter Nine**

Dean was grateful to have something to do. A hunting trip.

Finally.

Even if it was for that damned Delilah.

He was half-hoping that she would have just disappeared, that they would never be able to find her. He didn't like using his brother as bait. But Josephus had worked diligently, finally tracking her down.

Dean and Sam sat in their easy silence, cleaning their weapons on their motel room beds, packing for the trip.

It had been a few weeks of dead ends and misleads. But now, with the help of Josephus and his relatives and some area hunters, they had tracked her down.

The brothers had arrived in Arizona late last night. They found a local bar, had a few beers and had gone over the plan, and returned to the motel for an early night and a good rest. They had waited out the day, and now it was approaching early evening.

Dean slid the barrel back onto the handgun, but his hand slipped and missed, gouging out a chunk of flesh. He mumbled a swear under his breath. He raised his hand to his face to examine the injury, and noticed that his hand trembled.

Just a little bit.

He clenched his fist tightly, forcing blood to ooze out of the wound. He had that same anger/anxiety feeling mounting in his chest, the same feeling that he had when he first saw his brother with his shorn hair. It was like a twenty-pound weight resting against his sternum. He glanced over at Sammy, who was bent over his duffel bag, arranging the contents.

Sam had swallowed his pride and visited a barber yesterday in an attempt to control the damage that Delilah had done. The few weeks since the incident had allowed some of the shorter hair to grow in. The kindly old barber only raised his eyebrows in surprise when Sam had pulled off his knit cap, which had become a fixture on his head.

_Uh, my nephew gave me a haircut when I was sleeping, _Sam had mumbled to the man. The barber knew better than to question the excuse, perhaps thinking it was instead a frat prank or an angry girlfriend.

Which, in fact, it kind of was the latter.

Dean stared at his brother's back for a long time, lost in thought. He unconsciously rubbed the middle of his chest where the invisible weight rested.

"Dean?"

Dean blinked rapidly and dropped his hand.

"Everything okay, dude?" Sam questioned him. The duffel was packed and Sam shouldered on his jacket.

"Yeah, yeah. You ready? Give me a minute."

Sam nodded in response and headed out to the Impala. He was careful to lower his eyes as he passed by his brother unless they betrayed him. Inside he felt a burning, almost crushing, anger. It seethed and squirmed in his belly like a fierce snake. Sam had never wanted to wrap his hands around a demon's throat so badly – and he knew that was dangerous.

This was personal. And in the life of a hunter, killing should never be personal. It could only lead to over-eagerness and mistakes. And mistakes could mean death – his own or his brother's.

Sam had been able to hide his anger well in the past few weeks, but now it bubbled to the surface like hot lava. Sammy hoped that Dean was still too wrapped up in his own worried thoughts to notice. Sam knew that Dean was thinking about something – preoccupied – probably worried about him.

Sam slung the duffel into the Impala's trunk and slammed it shut.

_Let him worry,_ thought Sam. _Let him look out for me. I'm not going to be looking out for myself. I'm just going to charge in there and rip her head off._

Sam slid into the passenger side of the car and slammed the door forcefully.

"Hey, hey," admonished Dean, coming out of the motel room. "I know you want to get there, but let's not destroy Baby on the way." They were headed out to an abandoned warehouse where they believed Delilah was hiding.

Sam did not reply. He only sat solidly in his seat, staring straight ahead. Dean sat in the driver's seat and glanced worriedly at his brother.

"You okay?"

Sam did not answer, only nodded curtly in response.

"Sammy...,"

"_What?"_ The word barked out of his mouth like a rabid dog. Dean visibly flinched. Sam blew out his cheeks and readjusted his knit hat.

"Sorry," Sam mumbled, looking down at his clenched fists. "I just really want to get this over with."

Dean turned the key in the Impala and backed out of the parking space.

"I just don't want you charging in there," Dean instructed. "We don't know what that bitch has in store for us, okay?"

"Okay," replied Sam automatically. Dean looked at his brother a second longer, then put the car in gear.

It only took them twenty minutes to arrive at the industrial park. It was a long, deep loop in the arid landscape, filled with a multitude of warehouses. The brothers took a mental note of their uses – postal service distribution, local newspaper printing, storage for a roofing company. There were perhaps thirty buildings in all, all closed for the night, only a lonely car or two left overnight in some of the parking lots.

Satisfied, Dean pulled the Impala into the parking lot of a warehouse located four buildings away from their target. Josephus walked out from behind the building towards the brothers as they exited the car and opened its trunk.

"Jesus," muttered Dean, glancing at Josephus' outfit. He was dressed in safari style – matching khaki pants and jacket covered with numerous pockets, new leather boots, a white dress shirt with a paisley pink ascot, and a wide-brimmed khaki hat.

"Not really," retorted the messenger.

"Yeah, more like Crocodile Dundee," Dean shot back.

"Girls, girls," soothed Sam, even though his insides seethed. If anyone was going to be out of control, it was going to be him. He needed Dean and Josephus to be on point, to have his back. Sam prayed his anger was not palatable to the other two, because he felt it ooze out of every one of his pores. He tasted it like iron on his tongue.

He forced his face to relax and faced his brother.

"Okay, I'm going in," he said. He tried to make the words come out easily, as if it were a regular hunting trip. Josephus' eyes narrowed as he looked at Sam.

"Be careful," he said. "She's a well-trained, vengeful demon, Sam. She may have been laying low over these past weeks...but she is capable of great destruction."

Sam barely heard the words. He adjusted the grip on his shotgun, checked his supply of holy water, and began walking towards the warehouse.

* * *

><p><em>Whats in store for our darling Sammy? Please read and review and stay tuned, next chapter almost ready!<em>


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

"Let me have it," Josephus motioned to Sam's knit cap with his hand.

"What - ," questioned Sam, confused.

"I want her to see what she has done to you. If anything, it's going to cause a reaction of some sort," Josephus answered. Sam reluctantly pulled the cap off of his head and handed it to Dean, eyes downcast. Though the barber had done his best, his hair was still a myriad of lengths which lay down or stuck up with no pattern or reason.

"It's okay, Sammy," the elder Winchester reassured him.

"_It's okay, Sammy," the elder Winchester reassured him. "Just give Dad some time, he'll cool off - ,"_

"_No!" Sam replied. His fists were clenched at his sides at the end of long, gangly arms that protruded from a worn jean shirt. Dean made a mental note to shop the local Goodwill again for new shirts for Sam - Dean was having a hard time keeping the damn boy clothed. He just kept growing._

"_He won't cool off, he won't ever change. He wants us to be just like him, and I don't want to - ,"Sam barely resisted stamping his foot, but then he remembered fourteen-year-olds don't stamp their feet. _

"_Just get the haircut," Dean pleaded, watching the John's back disappear in the crowd on Main Street. They were standing outside of the barber shop. Their father had decided to walk away from yet another argument with his young son, this time concerning the length of his hair. _

"_And be like him – and like you?" _

_Dean smarted at the words, feeling their lash. A brief emotion of regret crosses through Sam's eyes, but with a blink, it was gone. Though Dean could barely see Sam's eyes, as his long bangs swept across his forehead and past his eyebrows. His dark, sandy hair covered his ears and the back of his collar. _

"_He can control how I live for now, but once I'm old enough Dean, I'm leaving. You can come with me, you can get out - ," Sam's words blended over each other in their eagerness for leaving his mouth. But he realized he had said too much. Dean visibly bristled. _

"_I'm not leaving, Sammy. And neither should you. This is the family business. We've got people to save." Dean's eyes blazed for a moment, then he turned abruptly to follow his father. _

"_What about me?" Sam asked his brother's back. "What about...saving me...?"_

_The crowd swallowed Dean and left Sam standing, jostled and alone, unheard. _

As Sam marched across the parking lot and onto the arid landscaping surrounding the target warehouse, small tendrils of dry dirt puffed up around his shoes. Behind him, Dean and Josephus took cover behind a large horizontal oil tank.

The plan really wasn't much of a plan at all. Sam was going in to find Delilah, to draw her out, to where Dean and Josephus could capture her. The only weapons Sam was going in with was a flask of holy water in his back pocket and the smarts in his head. It made perfect sense, really. Delilah would most likely be pretty upset at seeing Sam. They surmised that Dean had – thankfully - interrupted her murderous plans for him, and she would most likely be interested in finishing the job. If Sam could draw her out into the open, Dean and Josephus would have her.

The long shadows of the small landscaped bushes and ornamental rocks stretched in the fading sun. There was nothing to hide behind, no cover. He might as well walk in the open, let her see him coming.

Sam paused for a moment and planted his two feet. He rubbed his two hands together for a moment, then pressed them into each other in an attempt to make the shaking subside. His nerves were frayed, on edge, to the point of exploding.

That wasn't good.

He breathed in, then out again, attempting to slow his adrenaline-fueled beating heart.

Sam studied the warehouse. It was a standard concrete and metal construction, with large front garage doors and a side entrance. The garage doors were obviously locked with a large, undisturbed chain and lock. A large "_For Lease_" sign out front indicated its vacancy.

Sam stepped forward, and placed his hand on the doorknob to the side entrance, turning it slowly, then pushing it open. For a moment, he caught his own reflection in the the windows of the door. He almost startled, not recognizing himself. He had been avoiding mirrors for weeks now, and the sight of his maimed mane sent his heart racing again.

Sam clenched his teeth. Keeping one hand in front of him, the other poised over his back pants pocket, ready to grab the flask of holy water, he stepped into the warehouse.

"This had better work," Dean hissed to his companion.

Josephus looked at him in surprised amazement. "Of course it will work, dear, thick-skulled hunter. Because if it doesn't, you are stuck with me until we get Delilah. And I know neither one of us wants _that_."

Dean muttered something unintelligible under his breath, and adjusted himself to a more comfortable crouch behind the fuel tank.

_Come on, Sammy. Be safe, but let's get that bitch._

Sam blinked rapidly, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light of the unlit warehouse. It was large and open on the inside, with the metal roof three stories above his head. A few offices were built into the rear wall. Their doors were open, revealing gray metal desks and scattered paperwork. Massive chains and large hooks hung down from low, metal beams, formerly used to lift heavy equipment. Some chairs, tables, and 55-gallon drums lay scattered in the building, but nothing that could hide a demon.

Then he saw her.

Delilah had taken a woman's body. She was huddled in the front far corner of the warehouse, as far away from Sam as possible. She sat on some scavenged blankets on the concrete floor, arms wrapped around her knees, rocking and chanting quietly. A dim light emitted from a kerosene lantern in front of her. Sam could see her lips move, and her eyes were glued to the lamp.

Sam felt his stomach twist. Here, again, was an innocent victim. There was no telling where Delilah had gotten this body, and how much she had abused it or what she had put this girl through. As much as Sam did want to rip that head off, it was the head of a young, beautiful girl.

She was tall and slender, with olive skin and large brown eyes. Long, black, loosely curled locks flowed down around her shoulders. She was dressed in fashionably worn jeans, a loose printed t-shirt, and bare feet.

Sam stood for a moment, watching her, contemplating. He knew that she knew he was here. He was waiting for acknowledgment of his presence. That would determine what he would do next – turn and run to draw her outside, or grab her kicking and screaming to Dean and Josephus.

Slowly, she stopped rocking and looked up to the dark corner where Sam stood. She blinked once or twice, and in a thick accent said,

"No – please don't - ,"

She raised her hand, palm out to Sam, and he pulled out the holy water, muscles already springing towards her.

He was halfway across the warehouse when he realized he was blind.


	11. Chapter 11

**Hey all! Thank you for staying with the story so far – I have been getting a lot of great feedback, which I love and appreciate! Someone recently suggested I provide an estimate of where this takes place in the SPN timeline – so I would say this story takes place very early in the SPN series, before Sam or Dean knew the younger Winchester had demon blood in him. **

Chapter Eleven

"S'mthing ain't right," Dean mumbled.

Josephus sighed dramatically. He was sitting on the ground, leaning against the large tank they had taken cover behind, wide-brimmed khaki hat pushed over his face.

"Why would you say that?"

"I dunno...just a feeling," Dean replied. He glanced at his watch. It had been seven minutes since he had seen Sam jump at his own reflection in the glass window of the side door. Dean had almost risen to his feet from behind the tank and shouted at his younger brother to come back.

_Sam was too tightly wound to be tackling a demon the likes of Delilah, _Dean thought. _I shouldn't have let him go in by himself._ His stomach twisted at the possible consequences of his mistake.

"Yesss...," Josephus drawled. "Why don't you go wander over and see what is happening?"

Dean turned on the messenger and grabbed his shirt, startling Josephus and sending his hat to the ground.

"You – you don't tell me what to do, bitch," he snarled into Josephus's surprised face. "You don't just sit there and worry about wrinkling your outfit and protecting your reputation, Josey." Dean pushed him back against the tank roughly.

Dean stood up and walked around to the front of the tank and checked his watch again. Nine minutes.

_Not good._

"Hey, hunter," Josephus was standing now, too, but kept the oil tank between them. Dean could see him brushing off his hat slowly.

"You might think this is a one-way ride, my friend, but you are wrong. I may be needing your help this time, but I have helped you already far more than you could ever know."

"Oh yeah?" Dean turned his back towards Josephus and squinted at the setting sun.

"Do you think that every single time you sent a demon to hell it was just you? Every time you exorcised one, or scared it away, it was just never you, darling. It was me, or one of my kind, always there, too. For eons its been our responsibility to escort those souls back to Hell. Ask your friend Bobby. Its in my job description. You never saw us, you never knew we were there, because we are humble beings, Dean-o, doing a dirty job."

"_What?"_

Josephus glowered. "That's right. So don't take all this macho credit for yourself. You are not as great as you think you are." With a final dusting and smoothing of his clothes, he was gone.

"Son of a bitch." Dean shook his head, absorbing what Josephus had said, and glanced at his watch again. Twelve minutes.

He was going in.

XXXXXXXX

_Twelve Minutes Prior_

Sam skidded to a halt, confused. Had Delilah shut off her light? That would not have caused total darkness in the warehouse, as there was a row of windows he had noticed along very top of the far wall which let in some ambient light.

He waved his own hand in front of his face.

Nothing.

Sam's whole body broke out in a complete cold sweat. He held his hands out in front of him, one gripping the flask of holy water. He assumed a half-crouch and attempted to stay calm. He swung his arms around defensively, aware that he could be easily attacked.

He was completely vulnerable.

"Delilah!" he shouted into the warehouse.

A broken sob was his reply.

"Samson...my Samson, I am so sorry...," she replied.

"I am not your Samson, Delilah. My name is Sam Winchester and I am here to deliver you to Josephus, who will accompany you to your rightful place in Hell," Sam stated with purpose.

"I – I didn't do anything," she sobbed.

"You gave Samson to the enemy. You killed a lot of people," Sam paused, unsure how to phrase his thoughts. "You hurt me." He gestured awkwardly to his hair.

"Yes...yes, I did all those things...," she whispered.

Sam stood up right and dropped his hands. He adopted a gentler tone. He was surprised at her vulnerability. He suddenly wondered if there was some mistake, if she was really the dangerous demon they were seeking.

He sucked in a deep breath, attempting to sort out his conflicting emotions. The anger that had been rising inside him disappeared, and he felt like a deflated balloon. Empty. Confused. And yes, a little bit frightened that he had suddenly lost his vision.

"Come on," he gestured. "Come with me. Please." As wary as Sam was, he was going to try to bluff the demon into coming peacefully with him.

A low, deep laugh sprang up behind Sam.

"She's not going anywhere with you, hunter," the voice growled. Sam whipped around, spraying holy water in a wide arc. He was rewarded with a hiss and a shout of surprise as it made contact. But Sam was quickly tackled, the attacker gripping Sam around the waist and hurling him to the hard concrete. The anger that Sam had set aside now swelled inside him. Sam, now on his back, kicked the open air above him viciously, thinking the attacker would jump on him. But instead, a large arm hooked under his chin and dragged him across the warehouse. Sam clawed at the arm, twisting and fighting, but the attacker's strength held him firm. He felt a thin, rough rope loop around his wrists and ankles, painfully sharp and stiff. The entire time, over the sound of their struggle, Delilah moaned and sobbed.

Sam felt his attacker stand back, and heard Delilah shuffle forward and place a cool hand on his forehead. She placed a blanket under his head. His hands were bound tightly behind his back, and his ankles secured together. Sam struggled to get loose, but the rope was tight.

"Oh, oh my Samson, what have I done..."

"You've done good work, Delilah, that's what you've done. I am very pleased," the gruff voice said. It was thick with a Middle-Eastern accent.

Delilah stroked Sam's cheek, her long hair brushing his face. Sam realized that he had to use her weakness for him to his favor, if he was to escape.

"Nothing is gonna work. Get away from my brother." Dean's slow, deliberate command echoed across the large warehouse.

"Dean!" Sam twisted his head towards his brother's voice.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm okay. I'm...ah, just having a hard time seeing you," Sam attempted to communicate his blindness to his brother without giving too much away.

Delilah gasped, while the attacker chuckled. Sam felt the attacker's shoes brush his shoulder as he crouched down next to him.

"Back off!" Dean repeated. Sam heard his brother's footsteps come closer.

"I don't think you are in any kind of position to deal with me, Dean Winchester," he said, and Sam heard the familiar sound of a knife being unsheathed. He felt its cool metal against his throat.

"Who are you?" Sam asked him.

"I am Achish, a Philistine. You might say Delilah is helping me with my little mission up here." Sam felt the blade press down snug against his throat.

Sam heard Dean's boots shuffle backwards slowly. "Mission, huh? So you've been the Tweedledum to her Tweedledee."

"She's a lot more dangerous that even she knows. She's got a yearning for blood, and the young strength of an untrained demon. Don't you, Delilah?"

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry...," she sobbed in response.

Achish grunted. "Delilah and I go back a long, long time. You see, I was there – I was one of the Philistine soldiers who bribed her to discover the source of Samson's great strength. Once his hair was cut and he was captured, his God left him. Weak and alone. Even Delilah abandoned him. I helped blind him, too – it was with great pleasure that I ground my knife into his eye sockets." Sam felt the knife twist against his neck.

"I got Delilah out of Hell – you might say I have some connections – and let her be her foolish self. I knew you would come looking for her. She was just the bait for my trap. And the hair? She just couldn't help herself...sorry about that," Achish said sarcastically, and laughed again. Sam felt his attacker's thick fingers run over his head, finally grabbing and pulling on Sam's hair. Sam yanked his head away from the Philistine.

Sam was silent for a moment, thinking. Dean knew what he was going to say. "Dean...I'm okay. I think you should leave."

"Sammy?" Dean's voice was a mixture of gruffness and concern.

"Go, Dean. Trust me, please."

"No way."

"_Please."_

"Shit...I'm not going far, Sammy."

"Better not, jerk."

"Bitch."

Sammy heard Dean's footsteps slowly shuffle away. The door opened, then closed, and he was left alone with two demons and his prayers.


	12. Chapter 12

Phew! Chapter Twelve is here – but this story has taken a different turn than I had originally anticipated – sometimes these stories have a mind of their own – so I suggest you go back and reread Chapter 11, since I significantly changed it.

**Chapter Twelve**

Achish chuckled softly and resheathed his knife. He prodded Sam with his foot.

"You're mine, now," he said.

"And for what? I'm not Samson," Sam told him.

"This I know," Achish replied. "But you have the strength of _ten_ Samsons."

"No! No! Please, Achish! You cannot have him! Please!" Delilah bent over Sam, pulling his head up into her arms. Achish pushed her away roughly. She fell backwards on the concrete. Sam heard her skull crack the concrete floor.

"You were just part of the plan, you pathetic demon," he told her.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sam persisted. "I am _Sam Winchester_. Sure, I hunt demon crap like you, but I don't have any power beyond any other human being."

Achish bent close to Sam and chuckled into Sam's ear. His harsh breath made Sam cringe. "You don't even know, do you?"

Sam stayed quiet, but his mind was racing. Sure, he'd been having visions – dreams that had come true - he had foreseen Jessica's death. He had been having bad headaches and even some blackouts. He had never told Dean – never told a soul – did this demon know? Sam felt the taste of bile in the back of his throat. The thought of knowing that Jess was going to die – and not doing anything to change or prevent it – made him sick.

"What do you want," Sam asked him, steel in his voice. Sam's fingers began to slowly work the small knife out of his shirt's sleeve cuff, and he began to saw at the thin rope around his wrists.

"Lucifer is very interested in you, Sam Winchester. Or so I have heard. I wanted to get to you before the big boss did. Every demon dreams of being the King of Hell – of ousting Lucifer – and I saw this as my chance. Delilah was your bait – and you fell for the trap. Now I have you, now I want to – how do you say it? - see what makes you tick. You're special, hunter. And I want to find out why.

"Right now you look like such a sad little human. Maybe Lucifer is wrong, and maybe you are nothing. But I got to you before he did – and what ever power you have – I want to make it mine."

"Really? It's nice to know I'm something special - ," with a roar, Sam broke free of the ropes and swung his arm wide, his hand still holding the short bladed knife. He felt it dig deep into Achish's flesh. As Sam knew he would, he heard the door open and the reassuring sound of Dean's boots charge at him across the concrete floor. Dean lunged at the demon, pulling him away from Sam. Dean straddled the startled demon, pounding his fists into Achish's face.

Sam, still blind, struggled with the ropes around his ankles. He felt Delilah's soft hands on his. He handed her the knife and she cut the bindings quickly and helped him stand up. Her hands were on his face, running over his eyes and his hair.

"I did this - ," she murmured. Sam pushed her away roughly.

"Dean!"

"Sammy! How about some help!" Dean called to him. "I need that rope! Let's tie this guy up." Delilah quickly scooped the ropes up from the ground and brought them over to Dean. He secured Achish to one of the nearby chairs. Dean surveyed his work, then stood back and for good measure, sprinkled the demon with holy water.

Achish howled. Sam suddenly felt the presence of Josephus by his side.

"Hello, Sam," he said, gently touching the tall man's arm.

"Hello, Josephus. Nice of you to join us," Sam replied. Josephus withdrew his hand quickly, and Sam could almost see the hurt expression on the messenger's face.

Josephus quickly recovered. "Achish, you are with me," he told the demon.

"No – no -," Achish pleaded. "If you send me back there – Lucifer will punish me forever - ,"

"How quickly they turn," Dean turned to wink at Sam, but then remembered his brother couldn't see him. Dean hadn't even had time to contemplate Sam's predicament, but it suddenly hit him in the gut like a cannon ball. The elder Winchester turned back to the captured demon. "Then tell us what you want with my brother," demanded Dean.

Achish suddenly grew quiet, and a broad grin spread across his face. "Oh Sam, your brother does not know? You have not even told your own brother?"

"What is he talking about, Sam?" Dean looked to his brother.

"Nothing. Just demon double-talk, Dean. Let's get rid of him."

"I see...," Achish said. "The visions? The blackouts? Ah, holding the truth so close to your own heart...its a dangerous thing to do."

Sam was started by a sudden loud clang and a shout from Dean. Helpless and blind, Sam took a step back.

"Dean – Dean! What's going on!"

There was the sound of flesh being beaten and a scuffle. Dean shouted again and Delilah screamed. Josephus gripped Sam's arm in fright.

"Give me – that – you – _ugh_ – bitch!"

"Dean!" Sam had never felt to useless.

"It's okay, Sammy, I'm okay. Your girlfriend here decided to have some anger management on Achish with a shovel. Let's just say...its a good thing you can't see this right now."

Achish coughed and Sam could hear the blood gurgle. "You will have wished I had my way with you, Sam Winchester. Once Lucifer finds you...," he sputtered.

"Banish him!" Delilah pleaded. Josephus needed no further encouragement.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Lucifer stared at the trembling form on the ground before him. The figure was on his hands and knees, forehead touching the ground.

"Achish," Lucifer boomed. "There are no words for you. Sneaking Delilah out of my realm. Going behind my back to find Sam Winchester. I am disgusted."

Achish lifted his forehead off the steaming floor and inch, but Lucifer quickly placed his foot on the back of the soldier's head, forcing it back down. Achish only whimpered.

"I'm going to find something fun for you here in Hell. Something that will keep you in the bounds of agony...for a very long time."

Lucifer tsk'ed, glowering at the defeated form before him. "You could have been useful to me, Achish. But now you are nothing but untrustworthy. But you have taught me a lesson, soldier. I must go and find Sam Winchester myself. I am the only one that can persuade him to be my vessel."

Lucifer shoved Achish away with his foot. "Now go, you useless wretch. You may have an eternity to suffer, but I don't have much time." Achish crawled away, head still dragging along on the floor. But Lucifer was already preoccupied. His lean hand stroked his chin, and his lips curled into a devilish grin.

* * *

><p><em>Short chapter, I know, but I had sneak in a scene with Lucifer - especially since it is Chapter 13! More to come soon...our darling Sam needs to find a way to regain his sight! And be sure to join in on the conversation on my new forum, "The Usual Suspects - SPN FacFic Writers Forum"!<em>


	14. Chapter 14

****Good God, y'all! Its been too long since I have posted to this story, and I apologize! When life gets busy, its unfortunate that one of the things that must fall to the side are the things we enjoy the most, like writing! But I'm back here with Chapter 14, and I really hope you enjoy. I have been humbled by the kind reviews and readership this story has created. Thank you!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 14<strong>

Sam lay in the darkness, looking at the ceiling. _Wait, wait, its always dark when you are blind_, he thought. _And since I am lying on the bed, I guess I am looking up at the ceiling. _

_Damn. _

Delilah lay like a puppy on the end of the bed, curled up into a fetal position. Sam didn't think demons slept, so he knew she was just there to be close to him, pretending slumber.

_Not like I can look at her and see if her eyes are open or closed. _

_Damn. _

He heard the soft crinkle of a turning page and the slosh of a cup being refilled. Dean and Bobby were tediously searching for a clue – a spell – some help – anything – to help Sam regain his sight. Despair filled the inert Winchester. He had been on the bed, motionless, for hours. He felt as though he could lay there for the rest of his life, his body melting into the bed, becoming nothing.

_You can't hunt monsters if you can't see them. Can't load a gun. Drive a car. See a pretty girl. Or fireworks. Or stars. _

_Damn. _

Sam guffawed, and he could feel their eyes upon him.

"I guess this isn't looking very good, is it," he said, a choked chortle of laughter catching in his throat. Tears welled up in his useless eyes.

"Sammy...," Dean offered, but added nothing more.

"We'll find a way, kid," Bobby reassured. Sam heard him tip the glass to his lips and drink. "In fact, maybe...maybe we've been going at this all wrong. Maybe we have our answer...right here." Bobby stood up and walked over to Delilah.

"You said Josephus wanted to complete the unfinished task of one of his ancestors by bringing Delilah to hell. Well, here she is. Why didn't he grab her when he had the chance?"

Dean rubbed his face. "Josephus told us Lucifer was using Delilah as bait to capture him. Luci would use Josephus to get more souls... for uh, ransom."

"But wasn't he just gonna grab her and bring her to purgatory to avoid Luci?" Bobby insisted. He noticed Dean's head beginning to bob. He walked back over to Dean and put a fatherly hand on the young man's sagging shoulder. "Son, you can't even complete a full sentence. Get some shut-eye, would'ja?" The elder Winchester needed to further encouragement. He pushed himself stiffly up from the small table and walked by Sam, one hand resting on his brother's knee for a moment. Then he stumbled into the adjacent bed.

"Sorry, Sammy...," Dean muttered, his voice thick with sleep. Sam's heart thudded in his ears. He knew Dean felt devastated. "I'll take care of you, Sammy, I promise...," Dean managed to mutter in his sleep.

_I'll take care of you, Sammy, I promise, Dean shouted to his little brother over the roaring of the __shotgun. They were deep in a dark forest, and wendigo was attacking them. The boys had gotten separated from their father in the thick woods, and now Sammy lay on the damp moss, backed up against the stiff bark of a large tree. Dean stood over him, shotgun in hand, eyes searching for the creature. The gun would not hold it back for long. Dean longed to shout out for their father, but he didn't want to alert the wendigo to their present position. _

_Sam whimpered in fear, curling up next to the tree, hiding his head. _

"_It's okay, Sammy, I promise - ," Dean began, but the wendigo burst from the underbrush and began running towards the brothers. Dean calmly raised the shotgun and fired once – his last bullet. He held the shotgun in both hands, preparing to brace himself against the impact of the creature's attack. _

_A glass bottle, burning bright with a soaked rag for a fuse, landed at the monster's feet. It burst into a sudden flame, engulfing the screeching creature. John Winchester came around from behind a tree, grinning. _

"_Good job, Dean," he said, nodding proudly. Dean nodded back, black spots from the sudden display of light dappling his vision. He reached behind him and helped Sammy stand up, pulling leaves and sticks from Sammy's clothes. _

"_It's okay, Sammy. See, I told you its going to be okay..."_

"I just want everyone to stop telling me it's going to be okay," Sam whispered out loud. He heard the creak of the cheap motel chair as Bobby looked up from his book.

"What's that, Sam?"

Sam sighed a reply. Delilah stirred at his feet, her first movement in hours.

"Samson?" her voice was thick with an accent. He felt the movement of the bed as she crawled up beside him, her cool fingers on his cheeks. Sam heard Bobby stand up, on alert. Sam raised a few fingers up from where they were resting on the bed to reassure Bobby.

"I've been thinking, Samson. I – I think I can help you. Please, please let me help you," she begged.

"I think you've done quite enough already," Sam replied brusquely.

"I will go back to hell – that is where I belong. I have sinned, sinned so much..." her sentence ended with soft sobs. Her head in her hands, she rested it on Sam's chest. After a moment, he put a hesitant hand on her shoulder.

"Can you get back into hell – by yourself?" Bobby asked. Sam felt her nod.

"Yes, yes – I – I think I can. I think my – my friends in hell – the other demons – they can help me. I can try," she stammered.

"But you don't want to go back," Sam concluded. Her crying rose to wails. Dean muttered 'no rest for hunters' and pulled a pillow over his head. Delilah's body trembled a fearful response. She leaned in close to Sam, her whisper in his ear now toneless with control.

"I am the lowest of the low. I am beneath dignity. My duties in hell are for dogs. If I go back there, my existence, for all eternity, will be...unspeakable."

Sam nodded in reply.

"I...will go willingly, Samson. For you, for your sight, for your life. But...," she paused. Sam licked his lips, heart pounding. He understood. Delilah would only go back to hell for a price. Delilah sat up, wiping her face and smoothing her shirt. Sam sat up beside her, his head spinning.

"What?" Bobby demanded. "What did she say?"

"I need you two to go out – and get some things. Delilah...needs some things – to get back to hell. Can you do that, Bobby?"

"Uh, yeah, sure, Sam. Can't I just go and leave your brother here - ,"

"No!" Sam replied, too quickly. "I need you both to go. Dean! Dean, you gotta wake up."

"I know, I know," came the mutter from the next bed. "Not like I can sleep with all this chatter." Dean sat up, rubbing his eyes with his fists. "What do you need?"

"A hand-carved wooden crucifix, a dog's skull, rosemary, candles, and the ashes from a burned-down church."

"Shit!" Bobby exclaimed. "That's gonna take all day!" Realizing Sam couldn't possibly know what time it was, Bobby told him it was just past dawn. Sam nodded in response.

"Then you better get going."

The room was silent for a moment, then Sam heard Dean clap Bobby on the back.

"Let's go shopping, Bobby," Dean encouraged. "We won't find that stuff standing here." Bobby shook his head, still uncertain, but he opened the motel door. Sam felt Dean lean onto his bed and grab his brother by the shoulder. His finger's dug into Sam's flesh, strong and forceful.

"You sure, Sammy? You do this – and you'll be able to see again?" There was the unmistakable tone of urgency and caring in the elder Winchester's voice.

"I'm sure," Sam replied, his voice cracking. The bed springs squeaked as Dean stood up, walked out, and closed and locked the motel door behind him.

* * *

><p>Dean and Bobby stood for a moment outside the motel door, enjoying to fresh sunlight on their faces. Birds chirped excitedly in nearby bushes, and the smell of fresh morning dew was in the air. Simultaneously, they walked over to the Impala and got in.<p>

Bobby turned to Dean.

"Wait a minute, Dean. You asked Sam if _he_ was sure if he wanted to do this – isn't _Delilah_ gonna be the one to cast the spell?"

Dean was silent. He started the Impala and drove out of the parking lot, not saying a word until they were three blocks away and parked in front of a coffee shop.

"Bobby, Bobby, Bobby...," Dean finally replied with a rueful grin on his face. "You are really getting old, my man." Dean stared straight ahead, watching the bustling waitresses through the glass front of the shop. His fingers gripped and re-gripped the steering wheel.

"What the hell?"

"Do you really think we need all those things for Delilah? Think about it. That list was just an excuse to get us out. There's really only one thing that demon wants...and its already in that motel room."

Bobby's jaw dropped. "We can't – Sam can't – _oh, shit_," his hands grasped the top of his worn baseball cap in dismay. Dean finally turned towards the older man and slapped him on the thigh to awaken him out of his stupor.

"Com'on, Bobby. Coffee's on me."


	15. Chapter 15

_Woo-hoo, I love when I'm on a writing roll! I've posted a few chapters in quick succession, I hope you've had the time and inclination to read and review! There are just a few more chapters planned. This story has been a great experience for me - its my most reviewed piece of work ever - and that in itself is so incredibly rewarding. Have I mentioned reviews? Anyway, I'm also wondering if anyone has noticed how many times the motel doors have been mentioned at the end of many of the chapters? I almost ended this one the same way, but I guess a mention in the middle of the chapter still counts...enjoy!_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 15<strong>

Sam and Delilah heard the motel door click closed. They lay for a few moments, motionless on the motel bed. Delilah's hand was on Sam's chest, her head tucked into the crook of his neck. Slowly, she nestled in closer, finally brushing her soft lips behind Sam's ear.

With an angry, explosive movement, Sam hurled the demon off of him. She landed on the floor, stunned, and Sam fell on top of her, covering her with his body. He grabbed her wrists in one hand and held them above her head, pinning them to the floor. He jammed one knee painfully between her legs.

Delilah whimpered in fear. Sam, blind physically and blind in his sudden rage, pressed his open mouth onto hers, their teeth grating and lips pinching. Delilah tried to turn her head away, but Sam grabbed her chin and held her there, kissing her deeply but without passion.

"_Please...!" _Delilah managed to pant. _"Not like this - !"_

Sam's hand moved for a moment from his hold, and his fingers felt Delilah's long, wavy hair. The feel of it – the soft curls, the way it looped around his fingers -

A tight band of agony clasped Sam's chest and his head spun. A cold wind of memories blew over his body, making his convulse with a shiver. He knew he was feeling the dark hair of a girl possessed by a demon, but in his confused state of mind, in his blindness, the feel of that hair, reminded him of someone else. The thought of her left him stunned.

_Jess? _

Sam's breath hitched in his throat and he released Delilah's wrists. Her hands came up to his face, pulling him close again, kissing him gently, but Sam did not respond. Delilah knew she was looking at the face of a hunter, a man that she had humiliated, disgraced, that would kill her sooner than anything. She closed her eyes, gently touching his hair, the hair she had shorn so brutally. But for a few moments, she was willing to pretend it was the man that she had loved thousands of years ago, the man she had deceived, the man from which she now sought forgiveness. The man that everyone had believed had chosen her over his god.

_Samson..._

Sam pulled his head away and rolled off of Delilah onto the floor. His blind eyes swam in confusion in the early light that entered the motel room through disheveled window blinds. He ran a hand through his tousled, uneven hair. Delilah watched as his eyes swelled with tears, finally running down the sides of his face.

Delilah sat up, watching him, feeling tears of her own run down her face.

"I'm sorry," Sam croaked. "I'm – I'm so sorry."

Delilah smiled at him through her tears, gulping down her sobs. She had embarrassed herself, asking Sam to do this for her.

She was worse than a lowly demon. She was a fool.

Delilah carefully leaned over Sam's still form. He turned his head away from her, but she lay a cool hand on his cheek and turned his head back so she could look into his blind eyes. She smelled his clean breath coming slowly through his open lips. She felt his heart pounding through his chest. His eyes looked up at nothing, almost dead in their appearance. Delilah bent closer, allowing her tears to drip into Sam's eyes. His eyes blinked rapidly at their contact, and he suddenly convulsed in pain. His hands flew to his face, covering his eyes, kicking the demon away. He shouted in pain.

Delilah stood up, stepping away from Sam's thrashing legs. Walking over to the motel door, she opened it and stood in the doorway for a moment. With one last glance back at the hunter, she walked away, leaving the door open behind her.

* * *

><p>Dean took a quick gulp of coffee before answering his phone, glancing at the caller id. His eyebrows raised, he smirked, "Done already?"<p>

Bobby frowned, pouring the syrup over a fresh stack of thick buttermilk pancakes. If Dean wasn't there to hold him back, he would have been at the motel room already, stopping Sam from -

Dean was standing, clutching the phone between his shoulder and ear while he dug some money out of his pocket.

"Hold on, Sammy, we're three blocks away. We'll be right there," Dean hung up and nodded to Bobby, flinging the bills on the table.

"Shit," Bobby muttered. By the look on Dean's face, things had not gone as planned. Now he had to abandon the best-looking breakfast he'd seen in weeks. Shrugging, he grabbed a fork and walked out of the coffee shop with the plate of pancakes in his hands.

Tires squealing, the Impala pulled into the motel parking lot. Bobby jammed the last bite of pancake into his mouth, but Dean was already at the room's open door, gun raised.

"Sammy!"

Bobby wiped his chin and followed Dean into the room cautiously, having received no answer. Both men saw Sam's feet extending from beyond the edge of the bed on the floor at the same time. Dean holstered his gun, running to his brother, while Bobby kept his gun raised, covering the brothers.

"Sammy...," Dean fell to his knees, turning his brother onto his back. Dean could see that Sam, even in his state of semi-unconsciousness, had his eyes clenched closed. His shirt was sweat-soaked and his fingers trembled.

"All clear, she's not here," Bobby said, and he helped Dean pull Sam's limp body onto the bed. "He's still got all his clothes on."

"What?"

"You know, he's still all dressed. Looks like they didn't do the nasty."

Sam moaned and turned his head.

"What happened, Sam?" Dean asked. "What did she do to you?"

"_Jess._..," he muttered thickly. Dean and Bobby exchanged a glance. Bobby pressed his lips together, not speaking his thoughts. He wanted to hit Dean in the back of his head for leaving his little brother alone with that demon. He ran a cloth under some cool water and placed it on Sam's head.

Sam swallowed, licking his lips, his eyes fluttering open.

"Dean?" Sam looked right at his brother, extending his hand and touching Dean's face. A look of wonder and surprise lit up his tired face, and a a slight smile played on his lips. "Dean, I can _see_ you."


	16. Chapter 16

_Here is the final chapter, but an epilogue is on its way! Thank you all so much to those readers who have stuck it out and read every word, every chapters, and kindly reviewed. Thank you, thank you!_

**Chapter 16**

Delilah's bare feet dragged along the hot concrete sidewalk. Head down, she walked slowly, occasionally jostled by a irritated pedestrian when she didn't move out of the way.

She had done what she was supposed to do. She should have stopped at that. But she always wanted more, always pushed the boundaries, always tested others' patience.

_After a few thousand years in hell, you think you would have learned_, she chided herself. She walked through the small center of town, so similar to the one Sam walked through when he first spotted Josephus.

She turned instinctively off the paved sidewalk onto the cool grass of a small park. He was sitting there, waiting for her. Delilah sat beside him on the metal park bench, its cool surface and the company making her shiver.

"There, there," Lucifer comforted her. "I'm happy to see you again. Achish told me all about his little plan. He's very clever, I have to give him that. Sneaking you out of hell to draw in Sam Winchester. _Tsk, tsk. _Did Achish really think he could usurp me that easily?"

"The brothers...they only have each other in this world." Delilah twisted her hands in her lap.

"Yes, that's true. Quite a bond those two have. Did it make you think about your deceit to Samson, how maybe the two of you would have had each other – to have and to hold, so to speak?"

Delilah finally turned her head toward her companion, eyes gleaming in anger. "I'm not proud of what I did," she finally said.

Lucifer patted her leg, smiling smugly. "I have enough pride for the both of us. Pride – what a _great_ sin. Even though it was done behind my back, I can appreciate Achish's plan. Finding Sam Winchester was not an easy task. But planting those first seeds of distrust between the Winchesters...exceptional. I knew you had it in you. I realize now Sam would have kept that secret of his powers from his brother for as long as he could, if it weren't for you. The wheels of destiny turn slowly, and ever so fine. You just provided some, ah, grease?" he chuckled. "You did quite well, Delilah. Quite well."

Delilah raised her eyes up, watching the sky through the wispy branches of the willow tree they were sitting under. Birds sang softly in a chorus, and gently breeze brushed her cheek. She felt her stomach drop and twist in fear. What she had experienced before in hell in no way had prepared her for what was to come, she was certain.

"So now there is this matter of Josephus," Lucifer continued, examining his fingernails. "Turns out this whole time he didn't know you were in hell. He thought you were running rampant, free as a bird, and at the same time, tarnishing his squeaky image. And he was right, I would have nabbed his ass if he had ventured down there with you."

He paused for a moment, then spoke again slowly.

"So if you come back down to hell, that would only please him, wouldn't it. He would have even settled for purgatory, the fool. And we can't have him..._pleased." _The fallen angel shuddered comically, then stood suddenly, startling Delilah.

"So tell you what, dear Delilah. How would you like – and this is hard for me to say – a 'get out of jail free card'? Would you like to 'pass go and collect two-hundred dollars'?"

"I – I don't understand - ," stammered the demon.

"Scoot, go on, get out of here," Lucifer replied, waving his hands. "I don't want to see you or know you. You did me a favor, Delilah, whether you know it or not. And taking you back would just please someone I despise." Lucifer suddenly leaned in close to her, and Delilah sucked her breath in through her clenched teeth. He continued, his voice becoming steely, his eyes boring into hers.

"It was not in the plan that Sam Winchester be blinded – neither you nor Achish saw that one coming. You offered to fix it – to give Sam back his sight – for a price, you _whore_."

Delilah flinched at the words, cowering before her master. "What do you want?" she whispered hoarsely. She could not bear to look at his face.

"I want you to stay far away from Sam_son _Winchester, demon. Far, far away. If I ever find you within five hundred miles of that man, you will know misery like no one before has ever known. I promise you that."

Delilah gave a quick nod of agreement, terror showing visibly on her face.

Now, I bid you _au revoir et bonne chance, _my dear," he said, and was gone. Delilah drew in a shaky breath. She raised her eyes once more to the unattainable, tears flowing down her cheeks. Pressing her hands together in prayer, she began her confession out loud.

"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned..."


	17. Epilogue

_Epilogue_

"Dammit, Sammy, _come on!" _Dean stood impatiently in the motel doorway, duffel bags in hands, holding the door open with one foot.

A muffled response came from his brother in the bathroom.

Dean swore out loud, his face twisting with his annoyance. Finally giving up, he strode away from the motel, allowing the thin metal door to quietly shut behind him.

"Baby, I don't know what we are going to do with him," Dean huffed as he packed the duffels in the Impala's trunk. Bags stowed, he paused for a moment. The comments Achish had made back in the warehouse were still with Dean, burned into his hunter's mind.

_"Oh Sam, your brother does not know? You have not even told your own brother?"_

_"What is he talking about, Sam?"  
><em>

_"Nothing. Just demon double-talk, Dean. Let's get rid of him."_

_"I see...," Achish said. "The visions? The blackouts? Ah, holding the truth so close to your own heart...its a dangerous thing to do."_

"Dean, Dean, can't keep a good man down," Sam chanted behind him, a broad smile on his face. It was four months since Delilah had chopped the hair off the younger Winchester. Last night, Sam had finally been able to face a barber, who had carefully trimmed the last remaining uneven areas of hair. His mane was now back to its former glory, and Sam had spent half the morning brushing and admiring it in the bathroom mirror.

Dean forced his lips into a strait line, attempting to be stern with his brother.

"I'm glad you think you're pretty again, Samantha," Dean responded as he slammed the trunk closed. Sam quickly tossed something soft and not-too-clean smelling over the car and into Dean's face.

"Ugh!" Dean stepped back, letting the object fall to the ground.

Sam laughed, head tossed back in the morning, dewy sunshine. A loud, raucous, devil-be-damned laugh. A laugh that neither of them had heard for a very long time.

"It's that damned knitted hat I've been wearing for the past four months. Let's burn it," he told Dean.

"Shit, it stinks!" Dean had to smile, pleased to see his brother blissful again. They bantered for a few moments, then broke into a more serious discussion. They conversed over the roof of the Impala, discussing the plan for the next few days. Finally, they drove off, searching for a hot cup of coffee.

The overgrown bushes next to the Impala's former parking space shuddered. A shaky, filthy hand emerged, its fingers clasping around Sam's dropped and forgotten knit hat. The hand drew back again into the bushes, clenching its treasure.

_Samson, oh my Samson..._.

THE END


End file.
